If I arrive at the Fook with a willingness to drive
and I frequently mention the gummies really make me feel alive…
Call me a sportsman.
If I sit down at the table and we’ve agreed to play the cards
and I take all of your money and make it look like it was hard…
Call me a sportsman.
If I post a score (or four) that make your future look concluded
Then I bring you drinks and tell you gratuity was included…
Call me a sportsman.
If we’re playing Ms. PacMan and I accidentally hit “Continue”
but I casually mention it was because I couldn’t beat you…
Call me a sportsman.
If I’ve grown a ‘state and the rest of you don’t compare
but I credit my uncanny ability to grow hair…
Call me a sportsman.
If my fortunes fade but my spirit does not
If I happily praise your worthy shots…
Call me a sportsman.
If my job in the War Party is to be the engine of the train
and I stand and hold your umbrella in the mother fucking rain…
Call me a sportsman.
If you’re struggling to find the words to help people understand,
tell them to call me the biggest, baddest, most Dashing Wolf mother fucking Sportsman in the whole Fookarwie land!